


The Weight

by MarshIsATheatreGeek



Category: N/A - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Depression, Hurt/No Comfort, Mental Illness, Metaphorical, Oneshot, Other, personal, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 17:37:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18761197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshIsATheatreGeek/pseuds/MarshIsATheatreGeek
Summary: A miserable soul laments about the one thing that tortures them the most.





	The Weight

Weight.

It's all I feel.

It's all I've felt for so long.

All-encompassing, terribly sobering weight.

A weight that has been increasing with every single day that passes time's nimble fingers.

A weight that is inescapable, unmistakably present, no matter the acts I do to prevent it from existing.

Sometimes, thoughts of why this happened to me scratch at my brain, hoping to find answers. I can only muster up the courage to dismiss them once more. They've heard the answer to their insistent question so many times that it's been drilled into their very being.

It is my punishment.

It started so suddenly. The feeling of led being placed atop my heart, weighing me down slightly, or perhaps it was embedded deep within the confines of my chest, and only now decided to rear its ugly head out from under its home. Happiness attempting to shield me from it all the while.

Either way, I do not care.

It is present, regardless of its origins.

The weight, slowly, ever so slowly, began to build up. At times, it would subside, yet it would still tightly grip onto the atmosphere, forever shrouding it in its shadow. Other times, it would violently scratch, scrape, and _holler_ , until everything became far too much. Until the only breaths I could wheeze out were devoid of life, though they were a symbol of the aforementioned object.

Until I was swept up into the arms of unconsciousness, sleep. Finally relieved of all this depression and anxiety.

Even though I wonder why I bother anymore, I still endlessly question myself, and why I exist. Searching and searching for a solution to a problem that was never meant to be fixed.

Why do I waste what little time I have on such trivial things? I do not know.

I know only one thing: _It_ _doesn't_ _matter_.

I've come to terms with this fact, though I am still so deeply confused with this mess of a situation.

All of the events that transpired, all of the happiness, sadness, anger.... It doesn't matter. Atleast, to me it doesn't.

I truly don't know how some can go on with their lives. Happiness is like that, it's so extraordinary and wonderful that it can shield a person from even the most disheartening of truths.

Due to a person's ignorance (willingly or not) to the darkness surrounding every inch of this world, they can give their short existence meaning.

They can fill the void with colors.

Bright, beautiful colours that scatter themselves everywhere the darkness touches.

It does not allow the darkness to dispose of itself entirely, it simply makes it cease to exist for the time being.

So many wonderful, remarkable people can make this world, quite literally, turn upside down. They can invert the greyscale, and coat this land in a rainbow.

They focus on the life their colour creates, living within the joy and contentment of it all.

I suppose that's how they can go on.

In more ways than one could possibly know, I envy them.

I briefly wonder if once in a lifetime, I was one of them.

Was I just as brilliant as them? Did I manage to give my existence the meaning it was required to possess for it to be worth living out until there was nothing left?

It matters not, but shouldn't it..?

 _No_.

I cannot allow myself to have a spark of hope.

I am undeserving of it.

Though I crave the genuine feeling that the aforementioned people thrive in every single day of their lives, I cannot have it.

I cannot because I am far, far less then them.

That is why the weight is so securely placed in my heart.

They say it's an illness, something that could happen to anybody. They say that it matters not if you have had a wonderful life or a completely terrible one.

Hah, what do _they_ know of what doesn't and what does matter?

I cannot say that my life has been horrible, for it has been more than average.

I was, and still am, blessed.

Amazing, inspirational people have, out of the kindness of their hearts, chosen to exist in my little story.

They have chosen to engrave their names on each page we share with a thick black ink, and I am forever grateful for that.

The understanding of why they do not choose to leave such a toxic wasteland of a person is beyond me.

Perhaps they are just too good for that.

There were, of course, certain parts of the story with imperfections. Sometimes, the pages would rip, or be shredded into something far from repairable, and it just so happened that one of those tears derailed the story's train.

Everything crashed down, and it has yet to pick itself back up.

I now know that it will never be fixed.

I will continue to exist in this manner, disgusting and worthless, until I die, or until I force my death upon myself.

All of this brought upon by my idiotic mistakes.

The biggest of them all being that I was ever born, and the second being the fact that I failed to properly put an end to my meaningless existence.

Going over all of this, I now realize what a horrendous piece of trash this writing is. It is but an unholy unloading of pile upon pile of filthy waste.

A twisting, writhing, unfathomable thing that even I cannot decipher, though I feel and experience it every time I take a breath of air.

Though I try to form a decipherable, descriptive, and most importantly: orderly account of my condition, I cannot.

The reason I am unable to summon what is meant to be created into existence?

Well, that is a simple thing.

I do not understand.

The weight simply carries on, and so do I.

**Author's Note:**

> please contact ur local suicide hotline if u or anyone feels this way.


End file.
